<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Collarbones by JazzSquare24</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340861">Collarbones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzSquare24/pseuds/JazzSquare24'>JazzSquare24</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Breakfast with friends, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, M/M, Making Out, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son, Post-Canon, waking up together</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:27:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,501</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24340861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzSquare24/pseuds/JazzSquare24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Featuring a window curtain, sleepy kisses, and Simon stealing food from breakfast plates.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>158</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Collarbones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My pining heart has been exposed. There's definitely too much banter about a window curtain in here, but I hope you like it nonetheless :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>BAZ</strong>
</p><p>Waking up in Simon’s bedroom would be perfect bliss, if it weren’t for the fucking sun blinding me.</p><p>I squint and cover my eyes with my hand. Simon’s room has an east-facing window and a curtain that’s only just long enough to cover most of it. He couldn’t be fussed to return the curtain even after we’d realized it was too short to be effective. It leaves a sliver of window exposed at all times, which lets the morning sunlight stream right into my eyes, as though it’s thinking <em> burn the vampire.  </em></p><p>I roll over, away from the window, and bury my face in something warm. Simon grunts and stirs beside me, and I realize I’ve pressed my nose right against his throat. I take a deep breath.</p><p>“Morning,” he says softly. His arms come around me, one looping my waist, the other over my shoulders. </p><p>“Too bright,” I grumble, my eyes still closed. </p><p>Simon shuffles. “Hold on a second.” </p><p>I blink one eye open. He flashes me a sleepy grin as he clambers over me to the other side of the bed. </p><p>Simon doesn’t sleep in a shirt — just joggers, because he gets too hot. Which means I get to revel in the sight of his glorious bare back and his wings stretching as he pulls the curtains closed.</p><p>He glances at me over his shoulder and pushes his curls off his forehead. “Better?”</p><p>I hold out both my arms. </p><p>He scrambles back into bed and I waste no time in resuming the position we were in before, snuggling up to his chest as his arms come around me again. </p><p>“I’m buying you a new curtain for that window,” I mutter. </p><p>“That’s a boring thing to spend money on.”</p><p>“It’s necessary. Do you want me to get scorched by the sun in my sleep?”</p><p>He threads his fingers through my hair and lightly tugs. “You’re so dramatic. You’re not getting scorched in your sleep.”</p><p>“I very well might be.” He’s massaging the back of my neck and it feels so good my eyelids droop, but I press on. I’m awake now — might as well make sure my incorrigible boyfriend knows I’m not pleased about it. “Not to mention, it’s a terrible wake-up call.” </p><p>Simon scoffs. “It can’t be that terrible, considering you never actually get up and close the curtain yourself.”</p><p>He’s right — I never do it, because I never have to. Simon always gets up and does it for me. He doesn’t think twice about it. I never thought I’d be so soft that a gesture as simple as that would mean so much to me, but it does. He does.</p><p>I pinch his side and laugh when he yelps. “It’s just that I’m a little busy being <em> blinded </em>that I —”</p><p>“I’m shutting you up now,” Simon growls playfully.</p><p>My words die in my throat, and I can’t help but smile when he kisses me. I sigh into his mouth and let him press me into the pillows. </p><p>I quite like it when Snow shuts me up. It makes having to complain about the curtain worth it. </p><p>He kisses my lips, my chin, my cheeks. He’s teasing me; I try to catch his mouth again, because I’m perpetually greedy for more of him.</p><p>He laughs and tries to dodge me, so I twine my arms around his neck and bury my fingers in his curls, then capture his bottom lip between my teeth. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tracing over mine.</p><p>There’s a rustle of wind against my face. Probably Simon’s wings stretching. Then he’s shifting, hooking one of his legs between mine. His bare feet brush against my sock-covered ones. His tail curls around my ankle. </p><p>I trace my fingertips along his lower back, teasing just above the waistband of his joggers. He moans quietly and shifts his hips, pressing flush against me. Warmth spreads through my chest and lower belly. </p><p>“You menace,” he huffs against my jaw. “I’m starting to think this was all a plot of yours.”</p><p>Despite my best efforts to sound unamused, I’m practically purring against his skin. “A plot? Really, Snow?”</p><p>“Really. You’re in cahoots with the curtain to keep me awake.”</p><p>“I believe <em> I’m </em>the one with that dilemma. If anything, you’re the plotter here. And I can’t believe you just used the word ‘cahoots’ in a real sentence.”</p><p>He shifts onto one arm so his free hand can slide down my chest, curling under my shirt to stroke my belly. “There’s a common factor in this, you know,” he says. I’m watching his lips move, but when he’s touching me like this, it feels impossible to concentrate on what he’s saying. “Maybe the curtain’s the one with a plot.”</p><p>I give a breathy laugh and trace the line of his collarbones with my thumbs. “Finally caught on, have you, Snow?”</p><p>He nips my nose. “What do you say, then? Team up and beat the curtain?”</p><p>“You’re an idiot,” I tell him. Then I kiss him again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Baz.”</p><p>“Mmm.”</p><p>“I’m hungry.”</p><p>“I know. I felt <em> and </em>heard your stomach rumble.”</p><p>“We’re meeting up with Penny and Shepard, remember?”</p><p>“Mhm.”</p><p>“Well then . . . we should probably get a move on, shouldn’t we?”</p><p>“Hmmm . . . five more minutes.”</p><p>“<em> Baz. </em>Breakfast.”</p><p>“Your appetite is insatiable. You should do something about that, love.”</p><p>“I’m <em> trying to </em>but I can’t move while you’re on top of me.”</p><p>“Five more minutes.”</p><p>“Hmph.”</p><p>A beat passes. Then there’s a low rumbling sound.</p><p>“Crowely, Simon. Your stomach sounds like a dragon.”</p><p>“<em> Baaaz. </em>”</p><p>“Fine, fine, I’m getting up.”</p><p>“I’m going to need a snack to hold me over before we go.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Some time later, Simon and I are crammed at a tiny table in the back of a cafe, along with Penelope and Shepard. The tabletop is taken over by plates, most of them belonging to Simon (who likes to order multiple side dishes) and Shepard (who is set on trying as many full English breakfasts as he can). </p><p>“Who knew you could have beans for breakfast?” Shepard says with a grin. </p><p>Penelope rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile. It’s an expression I’m rather familiar with. </p><p>“Penny, are you going to eat that?” Simon asks, pointing his fork at her remaining slice of toast.</p><p>She shakes her head at him and tosses it onto his plate. “You’ve given me a déjà vu moment from Watford,” she says. “Funny how things change, but somehow I’m still eating meals across from you.”</p><p>He grins at her. “Just think where you’d be in life if I weren’t always there to eat your last bit of toast.” </p><p>“Probably fuller,” I say from behind my coffee mug. He bumps my shoulder with his. His wings are spelled away for the public, but it doesn’t make him any less in the way. “Careful, you’re going to make me spill.”</p><p>“So, what are you two up to today?” Penny asks. </p><p>“Buying a new bedroom window curtain,” I reply.</p><p>Simon glances at me. “Oh. Really?”</p><p>“Yes, really. I told you this morning, didn’t I?”</p><p>“I thought it was a more general comment. Not, like, to-do today.”</p><p>“Did something happen to the old curtain?” Shepard asks.</p><p>“No. I just hate it.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>“Well, when you’re done with that,” Penny says, “why don’t you come join us at my mum’s for dinner? We’ve got a pretty full day, but we’ll be there around six. Then you can tell us all about your curtain-shopping escapade.”</p><p>We agree to meet for dinner, and Penelope and Shepard take off. They’re going to the British Museum — Shepard’s never been before. He’s particularly excited about the exhibit on  mythology through Britain’s landscapes. </p><p>I turn to Simon. The light is catching his hair, making it shine. “You don’t really mind going shopping for a curtain, do you?”</p><p>He smiles at me and nudges my knee. “Course not, darling. But you’re in charge of picking it out. I don’t know the first thing, clearly.” He glances at my plate. “How were your pancakes?”</p><p>“Good,” I reply, poking the remaining halves with my fork.</p><p>He nods and looks back at his plate, which only has a few bits of crust from his toast and some lone pieces of fruit. I know exactly what he’s going to ask me, but I can’t help the fun of riling him up.</p><p>“How good?” he asks a moment later.</p><p>“Well they’re not singing to me or anything, but I’d say they’re fairly decent pancakes.”</p><p>“Fairly decent?” he echoes. “I thought you said they were good. Are they fairly good? Or really good?”</p><p>I put down my fork and try to smother my smile. “Snow. Is this your muddled way of asking for the rest of my breakfast?”</p><p>Simon grins. “Might be.”</p><p>I huff a sigh for show and push my plate toward him. </p><p>“What are you on about?” he says as he chews. “These are really good!”</p><p>I steal a sip from his mug of tea. “Good thing I ordered them.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>